she's sleeping in the middle of the living room floor. fuzzy red puppy on strips of hardwood flooring. Half on her side, half on her back with front paws together and legs butterflied. Looking back and she's moved. She must have known she was being talked about. She will sleep and sleep and sleep and then come over to me to lick my arm; to bite my shoe. She doesn't know how to pace herself-- it is all or nothing. She will dash around the backyard until she is exhausted and collapses panting and delighted on the outdoor couch. She sleeps and sleeps, waking up hungry and trusting that she will be fed. She knows she will eat, I turned my back on her yesterday and she stole the end two tablespoons of butter. Her only worries are not having both husband and I with her at all times or being separated from us. Happiness is when we collect the leash, she knows she will come along.